


Inflatable Misadventures

by Stegosaur



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 00:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11955477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stegosaur/pseuds/Stegosaur
Summary: Michelangelo decides to go snooping around Don's lab. Again.





	Inflatable Misadventures

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! Your regularly scheduled author is...indisposed at the moment. Perfectly fine, I assure you! In the meantime, I thought I'd share some content of a decidedly happier nature! Yes, now with twice as much warm-and-fuzzies as his previous work. Isn't that nice?
> 
> Huh? Oh, you liked his smut? Well, he's indisposed at the moment, so he can't write any more right now.
> 
> No, I don't care to elaborate on what that means. Did you see my new inflatable dinosaur toy? You should go play with that instead while you read my stories. It likes being played with, after all.
> 
> Enjoy the story!

            Michelangelo peered stealthily around Don’s vacant lab, reflections of experiments glinting in his eyes.  Feigning sick to get out of patrols was a common tactic of his, one that his brothers had long stopped pressing and arguing with him on as they aged.  Then again, he’d always made sure to at least have some hot food ready for their return as repayment for their permitting his slacking attitude, a bargain that worked in his favor as camouflage for the real reasons behind tonight’s ducking-of-duties: snooping, spying, and subterfuge. His glance shot up toward the placement of Don’s primary surveillance camera, its red recording light little more than a feint to distract him from the twine trip wire just inside the doorway, one he carefully snipped apart before barging inside.

            Don’s cameras were only setup to record when the tripwire was pulled, but not if it was cut.  It did mean that he’d need to take the time to replace the tripwire prior to his departure, but otherwise gave him free and open access to all of the wondrous toys his genius brother kept tucked away from them, usually under the guise of “safety precautions” or “testing procedures”.  He strode past the lab bench full of bubbling liquids and precarious experiments, having incurred Donnie’s wrath one too many times by spilling precious or rare materials and ingredients.  He also ignored the locked chest at the foot of the genius’ spare cot, much preferring to “accidentally” catch him in the act of using its contents on himself.  Instead, he glided along the smoothly poured concrete floor to the specimen drawers, bending deeply at the knees until he became eye-level with the lower half of the alphabetical ordering used.  Four of the bottom drawers joined together and labelled “X”, undoubtedly for the dimension their contents came from, secured behind a professional-quality padlock that Don had spent months tracking down from specialty stores and vendors.

            He couldn’t help but grin as he popped his lock picking kit from his belt, retrieving the copy of the highly-unique key he’d lifted from his brother during a surprisingly-passionate kiss earlier that morning. A delicate push into the opening and twist of the metal made the lock give with minimal effort, the drawer jostling slightly ajar as the heavy lock fell to the ground. His fingers wiggled in the air with anticipation before yanking the treasure trove open with anxious glee, the glow of energy and hum of weapons filling the reinforced space of the lab as everything suddenly energized at the presence of a nearby organic life form. He carefully plucked aside the various guns and grenades, a prior mishap with a plasma mine teaching them all a lesson in ordinance disposal at the expense of their fridge. He was digging purposefully for the boxes stacked neatly at the bottom, his smooth digits brushing over their metal casings before grabbing a very small container at the very top of the pile, deftly freeing it from the drawer and clutching it to his chest.

            Gravity did the work of pulling him down to the earth butt-first, a cringe zipping along his nerves as the cold concrete pressed mercilessly against his warm skin. It was a brief distraction however, as the box within his grasp was the focus of his attentions today. He had seen Don pocket it from Leatherhead as a gift from The Fugitoid, and had definitely heard his name on the air, whispered between the two friends. Ever since, it’d been his mission to track it down, open it, and discover how whatever was inside related to him. The box itself lacked any additional security on it, looking more like an industrial-styled jewelry box in size and shape, a flick of his thumb opening the lid with a muffled click.

            He couldn’t help but quirk a brow in confusion, fingers plucking the contents from the box and holding it up to a nearby light for better examination. The box held an air nozzle loosely within, its milky white plastic filtering out some of the brightness of the light Michelangelo examined it through, its cap dangling loosely to one side. Holding it aside for a moment, his glance cast back to the box the nozzle was contained in, a slip of paper with gibberish symbols on it the only indication of what was supposed to be within. Attention turning back to the nozzle, he flicked and squeezed at it, the exterior cap firm and hard while still being relatively flexible.  The ‘interior’, however, was oddly sticky when his fingers touched it, a gel of some sort clinging to his skin before fading away as he turned it around and continued examining it. An experiment popped into his mind, and without another thought given to where he found this object, he deftly pressed it down over his genital slit at the bottom of his plastron, centered over his crotch.

            A faint tingling accompanied the nozzle almost immediately upon placement, Michelangelo churring at the pleasant sensation warming his crotch. Whatever gel Don had placed on it served as quite the massage ointment, the weight practically melting from his loins as the tingling continued to spread. He idly reached down to remove the nozzle for a more in-depth examination once again, surprised to find that it had no give whatsoever when he tried to peel it off. His heart skipped a beat as he began wondering if that gel had actually been some sort of adhesive, fingers plucking at the edge of the valve itself to find it cemented quite firmly to his plastron. A thin ring of some shiny, plastic-like substance married the edge of the nozzle to his body, eliciting a nervous gnaw on his lower lip as he tugged and pulled at it. Damn, maybe it was glued on after all.

            Michelangelo hastily snatched the box back up and peered at the piece of paper within more carefully this time, noticing a single line of English at the top, above several more lines of gibberish. He could’ve sworn that this paper was entirely in symbols earlier, completely illegible and useless, yet now there was easily legible English staring right back at him, its direction clear: “Close the nozzle, and push into well.” Perhaps it was some sort of release mechanism? If he’d bothered to check his impulse and think things through, he probably would’ve ignored the direction and wait for Don to return and assist. Instead, he carefully plugged the nozzle cap back into the valve stem and sank the entire assembly back into its well, the cap’s profile more flush with his body as a result. He didn’t have to wait long for something to happen, however, as the shiny ring circling the valve began to spread out over his body, revealing itself as a vinyl-like substance, like the kind that…that…

            Michelangelo panicked and yanked hard at the nozzle, vinyl sticking to his fingers and skin as they dug into his plastron. It spread quickly over his loins and chest, making it near impossible to bend there whatsoever as it converted his solid body to see-through PVC. His breathing stopped as his lungs disappeared, the PVC coating welding his two fingers and thumb together into a single mitten on each hand. He reflexively grabbed at his throat and mouth as he tried to breathe, the vinyl washing over his body like a tidal wave and almost instantly converting the matter and atoms of his very cells into far more useful materials for the transformation. Despite his panic, the entire sequence felt startlingly good, pleasurable even, especially as the vinyl began to solidify into a more solid form around his crotch and loins. The tingle over his slit in particular was intensely distracting, one of his mittens batting down there to feel the vibrations of the air within intensifying the feelings there exponentially. His vision blurred as the vinyl slipped over his eyes and head, quickly joining back behind his skull and covering the last remaining pieces of exposed skin and shell.

            Surprisingly, he was still fully conscious and aware in spite of his new, inflatable form. He could still think about how he really should’ve minded Don’s privacy, or how he shouldn’t have just idly slapped that thing on without knowing what it did first. He could comprehend his entire lack of motion as the last of his organic form was converted into either air or vinyl, leaving him immobile there on the floor of Don’s lab. Worst yet, was the constant pleasing tingle emanating from the nozzle itself, like someone had been teasing his nethers with unmatched consistent vigor, keeping him on perpetual edge. It was damn frustrating, to say the least, if more than a little erotic. His sight of the world around him was heavily blurred through his newly printed-on eyes, his mouth sealed shut with a smooth, black line replacing it in a fixed grin. He couldn’t hear very well, or at least he couldn’t tell what was still going on around him inside the room, or if anyone was home yet.

            He was well and truly stuck, vinyl shell creaking in the stale air of the lab.

 

            Donatello had done well to hide his bemused grin when he saw Michelangelo on his security cameras, Leonardo and Raphael none the wiser to his devious little plan for their baby brother. When the three of them had returned to find no hot food and a still-messy lair, Leonardo was more than a little angry at his brother’s lackadaisical attitude. Thankfully, it was easy enough to send a mass text message to their collective cell phones; after all, he built and managed them himself, down to their security and configuration profiles. A quick click of his script had Leo and Raph fuming at Michelangelo’s desertion to visit Leatherhead for the weekend, the two of them arguing loudly all the way to the showers.  Don, meanwhile, had slipped into his lab for a ‘late night of repair work’, a heavy clang of iron and steel as he latched his lab door shut and grinned at the inflatable toy within.

            “You’ve got your best buddy Leatherhead to thank for this, you know.” He shucked his gear off on to the floor in a sloppy heap, grabbing the toy turtle by its rounded beak and effortlessly tossing it onto the cot. “I told him of my security problems with you, and he cooked up this little scheme with Fugitoid. We figured you couldn’t resist such an easy target, and what do you know?” The question was purely rhetorical, inflatable Michelangelo completely immobile and silent except for the creak of his vinyl shell. Donatello stretched his shoulders and back before sitting down on the cot, looking over the new toy in detail. He turned it over and around with childish curiosity, fingers brushing over the nozzle cap with a wry grin. “Oh my, I see where this ended up. I bet the toy would be quite pent up if it could speak.” Michelangelo could make out the muffled words of Donatello as his hollow form was taunted and teased, incapable of response. “So I bet you’re wondering if this is permanent, aren’t you? If your little misadventure has resulted in a one-way change into my blowup brother.” He gave the toy a purposeful squeak, mimicking a simplistic form of communication between them. “Well…”

            Don swung his legs onto the cot and tossed the inflatable toy Michelangelo to the head of it, pressing his shell into the cool vinyl object and squishing it up against the stone wall. Olive fingers plucked the paperback book and reading glasses from the shelf carved into the wall, settling the latter on his beak and thumbing to his dog-eared page. He purposefully left the question open-ended, taking advantage of the peace and quiet for a change.

            He had a lot of reading to catch up on, after all, and this air-filled body pillow was just what he needed.


End file.
